


all was golden when the day met the night

by evol_love



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Pining, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, The Pierre/Andrei and Anatole/Dolokhov are more minor but still important!, There's also implied Natasha/Helene but it's brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 11:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13364229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evol_love/pseuds/evol_love
Summary: Mary wonders if maybe she was always supposed to be lonely, between her well-meaning brother who'd rather spend time with his friends and the way she's never been on a date, or even kissed. Then Sonya Rostova enters her life.A story about siblings, friendship, and the moon falling in love with the sun.





	all was golden when the day met the night

**Author's Note:**

> Hoo! This fic has been a labor of love since July 2017 and I am SO thrilled to finally be sharing it with the world! I hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> A few content warnings:  
> -Mary and Andrei's dad comes into the story a few times and is pretty transparently verbally and emotionally abusive. His presence is limited but it is a weight that hangs over Mary and colors her worldview and experiences across the board, as abuse tends to. He only actually appears in one scene, and I don't think any of the mentions of him in the story will be terribly upsetting, but there is some canon-typical verbal abuse. Take care of yourselves.  
> -Partially as a consequence of the aforementioned abuse and just because of society in general, there's a bit of internalized homophobia on Mary's part at the front end, though only ever in self reflection and never outwardly spoken. I promise she'll be okay!
> 
> I also wanted to briefly touch on the setting of this fic, since it isn't explicitly set anywhere but isn't particularly (or accurately) written as specifically in Russia. Issues of LGBT rights and the hate crimes and oppression of LGBT people in Russia is the stuff of national news, and I as an American do not feel at all qualified to write about that or presume to understand the feelings and fears of LGBT people in present day Russia. You may imagine this fic set anywhere you please, even a semi-fictional Russia if you like! I just didn't want to try to get into the politics of the place because I feel that would be insensitive of me and I would be guaranteed to fuck it up no matter how much work and research I put in, and those issues are not the purpose of this story anyway. I hope that makes sense, and I appreciate your understanding. 
> 
> All that being said, this really is a happy fic! I promise! Please let me know your thoughts and feelings in the comments :) Thanks!
> 
> Title is from "When the Day Met the Night" by Panic! At the Disco

“ _Hey, it’s Andrei. I’m not here, so leave a message at the beep. Thanks!”_

“Hey, it’s Mary. I know we were going to Skype tomorrow but do you have time to talk tonight? It’s just...he’s...I miss you. Let me know. Bye.”

Mary tries to wipe her eyes as discreetly as possible. She’d taken refuge in her room after her father’s latest blow up, but it still hung in the house like an oppressive weight. It always did. It wasn’t that the house was always unpleasant, but every time her father had a fit and went after her, the whole place seemed to transform from the home where she’d grown up into an uncomfortable, heavy, suffocating thing. 

Her phone buzzes, and when she glances at it she sees that it’s Andrei Facetiming her. She accepts the call so quickly her hands are shaking, and the wifi crawls to connect her to her brother.

“Masha! What happened?” he says as soon as he appears onscreen. 

“Sorry, shoot, it’s like 1am there isn’t it?”

He shrugs, and she can see his room is dark and he’s clearly in bed. Oops. 

“My little sister needs me,” he replies, and a burst of affection lifts a little of the dread filling the house. 

She shakes her head, feeling silly for keeping him up when he has class in the morning. “You know how it is, it’s not anything new.”

He frowns, looking genuinely concerned. He’s always been like this; even when the two of them had fought in the past, he’d protect her against anyone. “I shouldn’t have left you alone with him. I’m sorry, Masha.”

“No, no,” she cuts him off. “You can’t turn down the chance to study in Paris, even I know that, I’m happy for you and I don’t know what you could do about it anyway. It’s really fine, I promise, I’m just tired.”

Andrei is silent for awhile. 

“You should move out.”

“What? Andrei you and I both know I can’t do that, someone has to take care of dad and I’m not-”

“We can find someone to look after-”

“Absolutely not, Andrei, I’m perfectly capable of-”

“I don’t think you’re incapable, it’s just that I think you deserve-”

“I _want_ to look after him, Andrei, he’s my father and I-”

“You’re miserable, Mary.”

“I am not.” 

“You _are_. Every time I call you you look older.”

She huffs a laugh. “You’ve been gone for a year, of course I’m older now.” 

He still looks too serious, and it hurts. She almost wishes she’d never called him at all. 

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

They leave it at that, wordlessly agreeing to let it go for now, but Mary knows that their father is going to continue to be a strain between them in addition to being one in her life at home, and it feels so unfair. Their call goes on and they move onto lighter things: Mary’s poetry final, Andrei’s Parisian friends (“sophisticated” in Andrei’s words, “pompous” in Mary’s), what Pierre’s up to. Mary is endlessly grateful for Andrei’s friendship with Pierre for giving her some sort of touchstone into the world outside her house and her classes. Living at home and commuting to class hasn’t given her many opportunities to make friends on campus, not that she’d been good at that to begin with. But she’d grown up with Pierre and Andrei running around the house, taking her with them on late-night diner runs and sneaking her into R-rated movies that had her feeling so guilty she’d once written her father a letter confessing she’d seen _The Hangover II_ and she was sorry she hadn’t asked his permission first. That had been back when things were okay, and her father had laughed and shown the letter to Andrei, who whined that she’d promised not to tell. 

“Two more weeks, Masha,” he says quietly. His eyelids keep falling shut. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fallen asleep on one of their calls, but she wants him to be well rested for his last few days of class. 

“Two weeks,” she agrees. “Pierre’s picking you up at the airport, so don’t forget to call him soon, okay?”

“I won’t, Mary,” he laughs. “We’ve already worked out the plan, don’t worry, you don’t have to try and manage me like you’re managing dad.”

Oh.

“Shit. That was bad to say, wasn’t it?” Andrei scrubs a hand across his face and yawns. 

“No, it’s fine. Go sleep, you’re going to pass out over Facetime again and you’ll drool all over your phone.”

“Masha-”

“Night.” She hangs up. 

She loves her brother. Dearly. But sometimes all she wants is a person who will just support her.

Listening for either footsteps or snoring, she pokes her head into the hall and goes to brush her teeth. Things will look brighter in the morning. They always do. 

She pulls her quilt up to her chin and wonders if she’ll ever meet someone that really understands her.

~~~~~

Everyone has their escape, some niche they fall into when they’re nervous or overwhelmed or just want to relax. Andrei’s was always documentaries. He always had ten new facts about some obscure battle or philosopher or literary movement. For a time, Mary’s was listening to Andrei talk about the things he learned. There was something soothing about the reverence with which he spoke about the latest History Channel special. Two weeks before her 16th birthday, however, Andrei watched a particularly dry feature on the history of penmanship which prompted him to buy her a set of calligraphy pens when her birthday arrived. Since then, Mary has calmed her frantic heart with ink and paper, letting the world around her fade into graceful, sweeping strokes of her pen. 

She writes Andrei letters constantly, looking for an excuse to sit down with a piece of paper and breathe. She never wrote more than a few lines - Andrei had no patience for reading her loopy scrawl, a fact he’d told her a hundred times when she used to leave him notes in the weeks following the gift-giving - but she always took the opportunity to tell him what the sky was like that day and to inquire whether the French air felt like wearing a denim jacket in the rain too. He never wrote back. She didn’t expect him to. Her fingers are spotted black like streaks of a dark cave, and she writes. 

Today’s letter is a hurried affair. “Even now you might be packing your things. The sky is a hug today. She wants you to come home too.” It’s a silly thing to say, even for her, but it’s honest. 

Mary is a little bit afraid of Andrei coming home, if she’s honest. The two of them have never been best friends or anything, but they’ve certainly always been close, and the idea that France, that being away for so long, that finding new people will make Andrei come home and find her wanting is a thought that keeps her up at night. She doesn’t want to find that he’s so changed she can’t recognize him anymore, that they no longer fit together, the Bolkonsky siblings, together ‘til the end. Even with their semi-regular video calls, Mary feels like she barely knows what Andrei’s up to or thinking about these days. Maybe she never did. 

She’s worried he’s outgrown her. 

He got to go away while Mary stayed at home and did the same things and lived in the same house and didn’t talk to anyone because she doesn’t know how. He’s going to come back with all these experiences and memories she can’t possibly dream of. 

But there’s no more time to worry about it. He’ll be here soon.

~~~~~

Mary’s never been in a bar. In fairness, she’s only 20, so there’s no real reason for her to go into one, but apparently Andrei’s friends go out for drinks all the time, and they want to take him out as soon as he’s back in town. Though the idea of a crowded bar filled with students is pretty much the opposite of appealing, Mary had no desire to spend time alone at home when she could be with her brother for the first time in a year. 

She can hear the car all the way down the street as she sits on the porch waiting for Pierre and Andrei to come pick her up. As the car pulls closer, she can see that Andrei is leaning over to honk the horn at her while Pierre tries to shove him back into his seat. 

“MASHA!” Andrei yells, hanging way too far out of the passenger window and excitedly waving at her. She can’t help but grin even as she worries that he’ll fall out of the car, and it appears Pierre is similarly torn as he yanks on Andrei’s shirt. Mary jumps up from her seat and runs out to the car, hopping into the back as Andrei excitedly whoops. As soon as she’s shut her door, Andrei is reaching into the back to kiss her forehead and ruffle her hair. 

“Andryusha,” she whines as she tries to fix her braid. “I’m so happy you’re home.”

“It’s so good to see you both! My favorites in one place!” Andrei sits back down, facing forward, to Pierre’s apparent relief. Andrei nudges him. “Hey, chill, I’m saying hi to my sister!”

“You are terrifying,” is all Pierre says back, but Mary’s fairly certain he’d received a similarly excited greeting when Andrei had arrived at the airport. 

“How’s Helene, Pierre?” Mary asks politely. She knows it’s a dicey question to ask but she doesn’t know what other easy conversation-starters are available to her right now. 

Pierre coughs. “We, uh. I’m not seeing her anymore. We broke things off a few months ago, actually.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t...” she trails off, unsure of what exactly she didn’t.

Andrei claps Pierre on the shoulder. 

“It was really for the best,” Pierre responds quietly. “It wasn’t going anywhere and we just got on each other’s nerves.”

“Oh.”

Mary doesn’t speak for the rest of the car ride, allowing the soundtrack of Andrei and Pierre catching up to fill the space instead while she thinks. 

When Mary was younger, she believed that if she thought hard enough, and long enough, she could turn invisible. She used to sit in her room and concentrate, sitting cross-legged on her bed, eyes closed, picturing herself blending into her soft gray comforter and blank white walls. Even now, years later, she thinks back on it and imagine herself disappearing in a vague sort of way, wondering if she’ll fade away completely if she stays silent and unnoticed long enough. 

The bar is packed, with a crowded and noisy patio and wide front windows displaying all of the trendy students inside. Mary sucks in a breath; she doesn’t even know how many people they’re meeting up with, let alone who they are. Going into social situations completely unaware of what to expect has...never been Mary’s favorite. To say the least.

She’s confused when Helene is there. Andrei glances at Pierre, who murmurs to the two of them, “We’ve decided to try and be friends, be nice.” Helene is sitting between two guys who are sitting far too close together to have Helene pressed between them like she is. The three of them are laughing at something, one of them tossing back a cocktail. 

“Andrei!” Helene says, sounding delighted, and she shoves the boys away to stand and come throw her arms around his neck, kissing him on the cheek. “As-tu aimé Paris?”

“Non,” Andrei groans in response, kissing her other cheek. “I can’t stand to speak another word of French right now.” He follows her back over to the table where the boys she was sitting with are talking animatedly. 

“Andrei’s here!” She sits down at the end of the booth, forcing the other two to scoot over and make room for her. Andrei greets them both, sitting down across from them. 

One of the boys reaches out a hand to Mary and says, “Hey, I’m Fedya.”

“Mary,” she says, shaking his hand. “I’m Andrei’s sister.”

“Oh! You’re Marya!” Fedya says happily. “We’ve heard all about you from Andrei and Pierre. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Oh, uh, you too.” 

“Mary’s shy,” Andrei says dismissively, and Mary blushes. Fedya frowns a little, still looking at her. She doesn’t think he’s frowning at her, though. She smiles at him apologetically, not sure what to say. 

Fedya jerks his head to indicate the other boy. “This is Helene’s brother, Anatole. He’s a huge slut, don’t acknowledge him, he gets off on it.”

“What the FUCK, Fedya?” Anatole yells, and Fedya laughs, Helene joining in. Mary hears Pierre sigh next to her. 

“It begins,” he says to himself. Mary’s beginning to regret not staying home. 

Everyone else is drinking (Beer: Fedya and Andrei. Rum and coke: Helene. Horrific sounding cocktails with euphemistic names: Anatole and Pierre.) and Fedya and Anatole are debating the merits of a basket of onion rings when a familiar face walks in. 

“There’s my girl,” Helene croons, not even rising from the table as Natasha walks in, as breathless and bright as ever. She sits beside Helene, who puts an arm around her waist and draws her in. Mary’s beginning to realize that Helene has gravity, that everyone around her is merely suspended in her orbit, being pulled ever closer. Even Mary can feel it tugging at her sleeve. She understands just a bit why she and Pierre dated for as long as they did even if they were so unhappy. To an outsider, Helene is irresistible. Mary just finds her kind of terrifying. 

She glances at Andrei, who is sipping his beer in a way that’s somehow solemn, Pierre shifting closer to him, both protective and consoling. 

At first she’s baffled as to why Natasha would even be at her ex-boyfriend’s homecoming, but if all your friends are in an intricate web of who’s-dating-who it’s bound to happen at some function or other. She casts another glance at Andrei and sees Helene and Pierre appear to be in some sort of standoff, Helene’s gaze challenging and smug, Pierre’s shuttered completely. 

The tension at the table is so thick that Mary actually jumps when a soft voice says, “Fedya, are you going to make me pull up a chair or are you going to move over.” 

Fedya beams at the woman who spoke and shoves Anatole back over by Helene, patting the seat beside him. “I always have a seat for you, babe.” 

Laughing, the woman sits beside him, snuggling against him for a minute in lieu of a real hug before frowning at the menu in front of her. 

Fedya nudges her. “Sonya, we have a guest.”

Sonya looks up at Mary with interest and Mary’s center of gravity, hovering somewhere between Andrei and Helene, shifts completely, knocking her off her axis.

“Hi,” she stutters. Sonya’s answering smile is warm. Honest. 

“Hi, I’m Sonya. Are you Mary?”

“Oh, yes. I’m Andrei’s sister.”

“Yeah, the boys said you’d be here. It’s so nice to get to meet you!” A thousand metaphors about the sun tumble through Mary’s brain at once, and then she’s got nothing to say back. 

Fedya kisses Sonya’s forehead. “Sonya here is Natasha’s cousin. You...know Natasha, yeah?” 

Mary sees that the others are making strained conversation, oblivious to the three of them. 

“Yeah, I only met her once, though. She seemed really lovely.”

The gratitude on Sonya’s face is unmistakable. Mary knows what it is to have to apologize for the people closest to you. She wishes she had it in her to squeeze Sonya’s hand reassuringly, give her one of those ‘it’ll blow over’ nods that Andrei does. But Mary doesn’t know how to do any of that, so she sips her water and lets the silence spread over them in thick layers. 

“Hey, come with me to the bar?” Sonya says suddenly to Fedya, touching his shoulder in a familiar way that pangs Mary’s heart just a bit. Fedya nods, following Sonya over as she goes to get a drink. Mary watches them. Fedya’s arms are around her and she’s leaning into it, rubbing her thumb against his arm in slow, soft circles. It makes Mary’s face flush, her heart pound, and she wrenches her gaze back to the table. Nothing has changed. 

Sonya and Fedya are laughing when they return, Sonya holding a glass of white wine. 

“Who orders white wine at a party at 7pm?” Anatole says scornfully, though the smile playing around the corners of his mouth suggests it’s more fond ribbing than actual criticism. Which is good for Anatole, frankly, because Mary’s pretty sure Fedya would deck him if he was genuinely mean to Sonya. 

“Me,” Sonya responds happily, taking a sip. Fedya shakes his head, still chuckling.

“So, how long have you two been together?” Mary asks politely. It seems only right.

Fedya screams. He actually, truly screams in the middle of the crowded bar. A few patrons glare at them and Mary shrinks. 

“ANDREI WE’RE KEEPING YOUR SISTER FOREVER,” Fedya calls to the end of the table. 

“Fedya,” Sonya says, stern but full of care, not crossness. “Be nice.” She turns to Mary apologetically. “Sorry. He thinks he’s funny. We’re actually not dating. Well, we dated in ninth grade, but that hardly counts.”

“Yeah,” Fedya says. “Because we’re both super gay.” Sonya rolls her eyes at him and sips her wine. 

Mary is frozen. 

“We do the cuddly-bar-shtick so gross dudes don’t harass this sweet bean.”

“Oh my gosh, don’t call me that.”

“You are the sweetest bean.”

“Fedya why-”

“Lesbean.”

“The internet was a mistake,” Sonya sighs. She switches to sipping from the glass of water in front of her. 

Mary tries frantically to recall the symptoms of a heart attack as she feels her pulse racing. There’s something with your arm, right? Is it the right arm or the left? She certainly feels lightheaded. Is this a heart attack? Is she going to die in this awful bar surrounded by people she doesn’t know and her brother on day one of his return? 

“Mary? Are you all right?” Sonya’s voice snaps her out of her reverie. She gulps and glances down the table, where she sees Andrei has turned to look at her, a concerned frown on his face. Great. 

She nods in response to Sonya’s question, unable to look at her, at any of them. She doesn’t trust her voice to not shake. 

After a moment, they’re all laughing and chattering again, the focus off of her in a way that feels conspicuous. It’s like everyone decided “let’s pointedly leave Mary alone to freak out” because they didn’t know what else to do with her. Probably they’re just being polite. She glances up and sees Fedya and Sonya having a quiet conversation, Anatole’s mouth twisted into an unhappy line as he watches the two of them. She wonders if they’re talking about her. When Fedya looks over at her before saying something else to Sonya, she knows they are. Wondering why she even tries to be social, Mary forces herself not to cry as she gets up from the table and walks over to Andrei. 

“Hey, I’m going for a walk, okay?” she tells him. He looks at her with that concern once again, though there’s a trace of annoyance in there too that’s impossible to mistake. She’s grown up being the little sister always spoiling his fun or ruining plans, so the look is nothing new. He nods a bit dismissively, and she walks out. 

“It was nice to meet you!” Sonya’s voice rings out clear and earnest over the hum of the bar, and Mary bites her lip before making the decision to turn around and nod at her. 

“You too.” Sonya’s answering smile is toohonest. It burns Mary’s cheeks. It makes something in her chest ache. Sonya’s eyes are so big and so sparkly and Mary has to force herself to look away so she can get out of this place before she makes an even bigger fool of herself. Sonya and Fedya think she’s homophobic. They have to, that has to be what they were whispering about, and why wouldn’t they assume so? Between her father’s reputation, which she’s sure Andrei has acquainted them with, and her downright freakish reaction to casual conversation, she’s pretty sure everyone at the table hates Mary at this point. And maybe that’s for the best. 

Maybe Mary was always supposed to be lonely. 

She walks around the block, trying not to get too far into her head. She focuses on the flowers still trying to stick out the August weather, the rush of cars passing her, the persistence of the sticky heat in the air. Taking a deep breath, she composes a letter to Andrei in her head, an already silly act made sillier due to the fact that Andrei is right down the street at this very moment. _Dear Andrei. Today the sky wants to cry but something’s holding her back._

Andrei is still sitting with Pierre when she returns to the bar, but he looks like he’s ready to leave. Anatole and Helene are laughing amongst themselves once again, Fedya joining in, and Natasha and Sonya are whispering about something together. Andrei glances up and sees her, nods, and stands up sharply, almost knocking his chair over. Pierre rises quickly to join him, losing his balance for just a second before righting himself. 

“Good to see you all,” Andrei says tensely to the group, back already turned to the table. Sonya frowns a little, poking her head around him to spot Mary in the doorway. Her frown clears up, and she waves happily to Mary once more. Hesitantly, Mary waves back. 

“That was fucked up, right?” Andrei is saying softly to Pierre as the three of them walk back to Pierre’s car. It’s much darker than it was when they arrived, and Mary shivers a little in the night air. 

It’s quiet. It’s quiet for too long, and then Pierre says softly, “I’m sorry about Helene.”

“She’s not yours to apologize for anymore.” Andrei stops in his tracks, and Pierre stops too, turning back to him and frowning. Mary feels her face flush; they’re talking like they’re the only people alive.

The rest of the journey home is uncomfortable, Pierre dropping them off back at the Bolkonsky home and looking too sad. Andrei’s expression is serious, his posture tense as he waves a quick goodnight, not turning back to watch Pierre drive away. Mary stands outside the house as the car grows smaller and smaller in the distance, and she wonders if Pierre feels as lonely as she does. 

“Welcome home,” she says once she steps inside the house, and despite the somber tone the evening had taken on she feels excitement bubble up in her again at the sight of her older brother back at home where he belongs. Andrei’s answering smile is a tired, bare thing, but it’s there. It’s enough for now. 

“Thanks, Masha,” he tells her, leaning in to kiss the top of her head. He scrubs a hand over his face, pushing his short dark hair back. He must’ve cut it right before he left France. “I’m going to bed, okay? You all right?” 

“Yeah,” Mary says, voice only shaking a little. “It was nice to meet your friends.” Andrei snorts, but he doesn’t say anything else before turning around and walking off to get ready for bed. Shoulders slumping, Mary goes off to her own room, feeling a bit defeated by the day she was given. She treads softly, hoping against hope her father is long asleep. 

~~~~~

Two weeks later, she’s greeted by two texts from an unknown number when she wakes up. She feels her heart jolt a bit more awake at this - she’s never been a fan of unexpected conversations, and she has no idea who would be texting her, anyway. She unlocks the screen shakily and taps her thumbnail against the screen impatiently while she waits for the messages to load.

_**Hey! It’s Sonya from the other day! :D I got your number from Natasha, I hope that was okay! I just wanted to say hi!!!** _

**_Okay, I also wanted to ask you a favor :o)_ **

Mary’s kind of surprised Natasha still has her number, actually, but she adds “Sonya Rostova” to her contacts without another thought.

_That’s okay. How can I help you?_

She erases the text three times before sending it. It’s just six words, but somehow this feels important. 

_**AHH okay so this is kind of tacky of me and I’m very sorry** _

Mary is...concerned.

_**So the shower is broken at mine and Natasha’s place and normally I’d just go without, it’s only been a day or two, but I have a date tonight and Natasha says you live nearby and is there anyway I could take a shower at your house???????** _

Mary has been asked to do many ridiculous things by Pierre and Andrei throughout the years, but never has anyone come to her with such an absurd request.

_Of course?_

What else can she say? She just hopes her father can keep it together, or better yet, keep in his room, for the next hour, and promptly feels horrible for wishing her own father would stay locked out of sight and out of mind.

_**SERIOUSLY???? Mary you’re amazing oh my goodness <3 ** _

Her heart beats unevenly at the heart emoticon and...ah. This might have been a mistake after all. 

Taking a deep breath, she walks across the hall and knocks on Andrei’s bedroom door. She always knocks, and he never does (not that he comes in her room all that often anyway). It’s a tradition of theirs at this point. 

“Yeah?” Andrei calls. She wonders what he’s been occupying himself with recently. He used to spend all of his time with Natasha, but that had gone out rather explosively, and since he got back he’s spent most of his time locked in his room or out with Pierre. 

“It’s me, can I come in?”

“Uh, yeah?”

She pushes the door open but hovers in the doorway like an uncertain moth. Andrei’s in bed reading something that looks very dry.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing’s wrong.” She bites her lip, trying to figure out how to say this without it being totally weird. “Could you maybe steer clear of our bathroom for a bit?”

He raises an eyebrow, setting his book down on his chest. “Uh, sure, why?”

She takes another deep breath, focusing on a spot on his headboard a few inches to the left of Andrei’s curious gaze. 

“Uh, Sonya’s coming over to use our shower?”

“Our shower,” Andrei repeats. “Sonya Rostova?”

“Yes?”

“Why is Sonya coming over to use our shower?”

Mary shrugs. “Her shower is broken?”

“She couldn’t go without for like two days?”

“She said she had a date.”

“Sonya Rostova has a date and needs to use our shower.”

“ _Yes,”_ she says, growing impatient. 

“She didn’t have anyone else she could call?”

“I have _friends_ , Andrei,” she says, voice too loud and too high, and it isn’t even true because she _doesn’t_ have friends, or she doesn’t have friends that weren’t Andrei’s first, she’s always the little sister tagging along even now, she’s always going to be, and Andrei can’t even imagine that someone might want to ask her a favor, and and and-

“Whoa, whoa, Masha.” Andrei’s brow is furrowed, and he moves his book to the nightstand so he can get up. Her face is hot, and her gaze has moved to her feet. She scrunches up her toes and wonders if she should paint her nails before Sonya arrives. “Hey.” Andrei is suddenly right in front of her, his hands on her shoulders, and she looks up at him. She can’t quite meet his eyes. “I _never_ said you don’t have friends, Mary.”

To her humiliation, she can feel hot tears start to prick at the corners of her eyes. 

“I _don’t,”_ she says raggedly. 

“Of course you have friends, Masha, of course you do. People love you.” He sounds annoyed, like he’s talking to a child.

“People love _you_ , Andryusha, they talk to me because you bring me places and they have to. It’s not the same.” She wipes a hand over her traitorous eyes, trying to stop the tears before they fall. “Stay out of the bathroom.

~~~~~

Mary feels absolutely wretched when the doorbell rings. She jumps when she hears it, not one to particularly enjoy loud noises out of nowhere, but she answers the door once she’s recovered. 

“Hi!” Sonya says happily as soon as the door opens, flinging her arms around Mary in perhaps the most enthusiastic hug Mary has ever received. “Thank you thank you thank you, you have no idea how much better this made my day!”

“Of course,” Mary says, though she can’t quite muster a smile. “You have a date, so.” She trails off, choking on the words. Mary’s never been on a date. She doesn’t even know what they’re like.

“Yeah,” Sonya agrees, finally releasing Mary. She’s in a white sundress and looks absolutely beautiful. She’s all freckles. “It’s just this girl that Fedya bullied me into agreeing to meet, but I like to make a good first impression.” How can one person have that much sunshine inside of them? 

Sonya raises her eyebrows expectantly, and Mary realizes they’re still standing in the doorway.

“Oh! Sorry, please, come in. The uh, the bathroom is right down the hall.”

Sonya gives her another hug, this one barely a second long, a burst of light Mary can’t even comprehend before she it’s gone, and then Sonya is calling “thank you so much!” behind her as she leaves. 

Mary doesn’t really know what she expected. Sonya texted her asking for a favor, Mary said yes, Sonya came over and said hello and then went to do what she came here for. Was Mary thinking she’d get an afternoon tea out of this? Sonya is getting ready for a _date._ A date with a _girl._

Mary’s palms are sweaty and she isn’t even really sure why. 

And then Sonya starts _singing._

She’s singing. Singing in the shower. Singing in _Mary’s_ shower. 

Her voice is deeper than you’d expect, even when she’s just speaking, but now it’s this full, throaty thing filling the lower level of the house with its richness. Mary is reminded of a book that was read to her in the library when she was a child. _Across the river and over the hills. Guess how much I love you._

“Who the hell is that?” a voice croaks, and Mary’s heightened spirits take an immediate dive. 

“Papa,” she says in surprise, jumping up from the sofa. She doesn’t know why her instinct is always to stand up when her father enters the room, except that the idea of him looming over her is infinitely more terrifying than rising to greet him. 

“Well?”

“She’s uh, just a friend of mine. She had an emergency and needed to use the shower.”

“Tell Andrei next time he wants to bring some whore over here she can shower somewhere else.”

“Papa!” she exclaims again, horrified, and suddenly panicked that he’s going to _do_ something, that things are about to go horribly and that Sonya won’t ever look at her again with those wide wide sunflower eyes. “She wasn’t here with Andrei, she just got here, you can ask him.”

“Hmmm,” he hums. She prays, prays, _prays_ he’ll leave it at that. “Well, if she’s going to treat my house like she owns it, I’m going to meet her,” he says at last, and Mary could fucking _cry._

Of course, Sonya chooses _that_ moment to turn off the water, and Mary is _trembling._ She wants to cry out, tell her _No, go back, stay in there until he gives up_ , but there’s nothing she can do. Mary’s half hoping her father will forget why he came downstairs, or that he’ll fall asleep right here in the living room so Mary can sneak Sonya out, but Mary’s never been good at getting what she wants, and Sonya darts into the room a moment later, back in the white sundress and looking like she’s never had a bad day in her life. 

“Oh! Hello,” Sonya says, and while her posture is open, Mary can see in her eyes that she’s afraid, and her heart lurches when she realizes Sonya must have heard all about Mr. Bolkonsky from Natasha. Oh. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Sonya says, and Mary can’t even detect any insincerity there. She extends a hand to her dad and waits for him to shake it. 

He doesn’t.

“What are you doing here?” he demands. Somehow, impossibly, Sonya barely flinches, fixing her bright grin on her face and pushing on. 

“I’m so sorry to impose, I didn’t mean to disrupt the household, I was just in a bind and Mary here did me a favor.” She turns that smile on Mary, suddenly, eyes meeting hers, and Mary wasn’t ready. Mary thinks she might not ever be ready. 

Mary _hates_ the way her father is looking at Sonya, some awful mix of contempt and downright lechery. 

“What did you say your name was?” he asks roughly, and Mary didn’t think it was possible for her heart to sink even more, but maybe she should get used to being surprised. She turns and looks at Sonya desperately, hoping her frantic expression accurately conveys how much Sonya needs to _not_ share her last name with her father. If he puts together that she and Natasha are related, this whole thing is likely to go up in flames. 

“Sonya,” she smiles. Always smiling. Mary cannot figure this girl out for anything. 

Her father grunts, shakes his head, and turns away. 

“Get her out of here,” he calls over his shoulder as he starts back upstairs, and Sonya crumbles just a bit once his back is turned. 

Oh. So she really _is_ a person. Fancy that. 

“I’m so sorry,” Mary says. She knows it sounds like she’s begging, and she isn’t even sure what she’s begging for. Forgiveness, understanding. Another chance. 

Despite her ginger hair being wrapped up in a bun on top of her head, it bobs as Sonya shakes her head, and Mary is a bit mesmerized. “You have nothing to be sorry for, okay?” She reaches out and squeezes Mary’s hand. “Are you okay?”

Mary is floored. 

“Am I...you’re the one he was yelling at.”

“I know.” Sonya sucks in a breath, and Mary can see she’s a lot more shaken than she lets on. “But, look, I get it, okay? Family is...hard.”

She gets it. Sonya _understands_ her. Sonya sees her. 

Mary opens her mouth before she’s made up her mind of where to start, afraid of what might come out. 

“Thank you,” she says. She hadn’t expected to say that. Her voice is barely a whisper. 

Sonya’s smile has something else in it now, and Mary hopes those aren’t actually tears glittering in Sonya’s eyes, because she thinks that might break her heart. 

“Of course.”

Mary is doomed. She never stood a chance at all.

~~~~~

Sonya’s date is a total bust, Mary learns later. 

_**Fedya and I are getting WICKED drunk in honor of being single forever, wanna join :P** _

Mary actually laughs out loud when she gets the text. 

_I don’t know if I’d be the best company, admittedly._

The reply is almost immediate, but it takes the form of a Facetime call rather than a text. Heart skipping a beat, Mary taps to answer. The screen is blurry and fuzzy, the video glitching a few times, sticking and freezing as it tries to connect. 

“Hello?” Sonya asks. Her voice is a little too loud, and Mary giggles. 

“How much have you been drinking?” she asks, and immediately hopes that wasn’t an awful thing to say. Apparently it’s fine, because she can hear Fedya laughing offscreen. 

“This bitch is _wasted,”_ he yells, and Sonya squawks indignantly, shoving him. 

“I’m _not,_ ” she insists, and her voice is dry enough that Mary believes her. Sonya picks up her wineglass and sips daintily, side-eyeing Fedya. “He’s _chugging_ rum right now, I cannot believe I’m the one being victimized here.”

“I’m not the one calling my cruuuuush right now,” Fedya says back, voice sing-song-y. Sonya turns pink but says very calmly, “So is that you admitting you _do_ have a crush on him, Fedya?” 

Fedya is silent, and Sonya laughs. 

“He’s so dumb,” she says warmly. Mary wonders if Sonya sounds as fond when she talks about Mary. If she talks about Mary. “He’s just joking, sorry about that,” Sonya adds, and Mary shakes her head quickly.

“No! No, of course, I figured that was probably the case.”

Sonya looks sad for a moment, but it’s gone so quickly it might never have been there at all. 

“What are you up to this evening?”

Mary shrugs. “Just at home. I was going to go to bed a little bit ago, but here I am.”

“Oh my gosh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“You aren’t!” Mary’s practically tripping over her tongue in her haste to assure Sonya that there’s nothing in the world she’d rather be doing than talking to her. “I...I like talking to you.” She swallows, hard, throat suddenly tight. 

There’s nothing but honey in her voice when Sonya gives her a quiet little smile and says, “I like talking to you too. 

Mary’s trying desperately to think of something to say when someone knocks harshly on her door. Mary jumps and drops her phone, frantically scrambling to pick it up where it had fallen amongst her sheets. 

“Just a moment!” she calls, then turns back to a confused Sonya, who had gone back to her wine. “I have to go, I’m sorry,” she tells Sonya, hanging up while Sonya’s in the middle of nodding. It’s got to be her father at the door, and the last thing she wants is for him to have any access at all to Sonya. 

She jumps up from her bed and goes to the door, slowing down as she reaches for the handle. All the light that seemed to fill her room before has gone out. 

It isn’t her father, though. It’s Andrei. 

He’s standing in the hall looking like a storm, looking a little how he does when he’s been reading the same book for days and trying to parse out every detail of what it means. She’s never quite seen Andrei like this, though. She’s seen him devastated and sad after Natasha broke up with him, she’s seen him nervous and stressed getting ready to move to France for the year, she’s seen him frustrated with her and angry at their father, but she’s never seen him look this _scared_. 

“What-”

“If I don’t say this right now, I’m never going to.” Andrei says sharply, cutting her off. He inhales, then stops, shoulders sagging. “I just...” he trails off, courage gone. Mary’s heart aches for him, but now she’s scared too. Andrei’s the strong one. “Can I...” he gestures behind her, and Mary nods quickly, stepping aside so he can enter her room. She closes the door behind him; no one else belongs in this conversation, she can tell. She sits on her bed and waits for him to go on.

Andrei is pacing around her room, stopping to glance out the window, to run a hand through his hair (it’s gotten a bit longer since the day he’d returned), then starting up again. It’s making Mary’s heart restless.

“Andrei, whatever it is, it’s okay. I’m your sister. You can tell me.”

He looks at her desperately, and for a terrible second she’s afraid he’s going to cry. 

“Andrei.”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I think I’m bisexual. Or, no, that’s not right. I _know_ I’m bi. Yeah.” His voice seems to cut off without his volition, choked up. 

_Oh._

She stares at him, unable to process what he’s just said to her. 

“W-what do you mean?”

He grits his teeth. “I’m bi, Mary.”

Mary, with no warning to him or even to herself, bursts into tears. 

Andrei rears back for a moment, then moves towards her again, hand reaching out to her in some aborted motion she doesn’t recognize. “Shit, shit, Mary, I didn’t think you were going to react like this. I didn’t...shit. I didn’t think you were really going to have a problem with this.”

“No, no, I’m not, I’m sorry, I don’t,” she tries to choke out, but she’s actually kind of _sobbing_ right now, which is humiliating and also completely unfair to her brother, who’d just told her something really important. “Andrei, I don’t mind.”

He frowns. “Uh. Then what...?” He gestures sort of vaguely at Mary and the fact that she can’t stop crying. 

“I’ve been so scared. I thought...I never dated any guys, I didn’t even want to, I always felt so weird and awkward and had such a hard time making friends with girls, and I _knew_ , Andrei, I’m not stupid, I knew what was going on but I didn’t want to know, I didn’t want to be. I didn’t, I couldn’t,” Mary chokes on a sob and Andrei sits beside her to put an arm around her. 

“Oh Masha,” he says softly. “I didn’t know.”

She laughs weakly, burying her face in his shoulder. “Why would you? I didn’t even tell myself.”

“It’s okay. You know it’s okay, right?”

She sits up and wipes her eyes. “I think I do, now.”

He hugs her so tight she can’t breathe, but somehow she hasn’t breathed this easily in years. 

“Hey Masha?” he whispers into her hair after a long moment. “There’s actually...more.”

She sits up, frowning. “Is everything okay? Are your friends giving you a hard time?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” His eyes betray the fact that he’s miles away. He looks nervous again, but not so much terrified anymore. 

“Well?”

“I’mdatingPierre?” he says all in a rush, finishing it like it’s a question. 

“Sorry? You’re...oh my gosh! You’re dating Pierre?” Andrei nods, unable to stop himself from grinning just a bit. 

“Yeah.”

“How long has that been going on?” 

“We just started really dating a week ago. That’s why I wanted to tell you everything. I didn’t want to hide it from you.”

“But you knew before then.” It’s not a question. He shrugs. 

“I think I knew I was bi by the end of high school, but I didn’t really think about it until I got to France.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Do dad or the university know they funded a year of you kissing pretty French boys?” Andrei laughs sharply. 

“Not a chance.” 

“No, I guess not.” She sighs, a bit of that weight from before resettling in her chest. 

“Hey.” He puts a hand on her knee. “None of that. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. Or me. It’s his problem, okay? I hope you know that.”

She sits for a moment trying to absorb whatever just happened. It doesn’t quite feel real. 

“Eight years,” she tells him finally. 

“What?”

“I’ve known for eight years. That I’m. You know.”

“You’ve known you’re gay since you were twelve?” he asks, incredulous. She nods, blushing in spite of herself at his words. “You are...sorry, I don’t want to put words in your mouth. Are you a lesbian?”

There’s a rush of blood in her ears and everything around her seems like static, but she feels herself nodding even as her brain seems to yell _NO, not that, not that_ back at her. She supposes that she’s going to have to start fighting that part of her brain now, if Andrei’s going to go ahead and be bi. 

He whistles. “Eight years. Holy shit. Eight _years?_ I didn’t know _shit_ when I was twelve.”

“I guess I’m smarter,” she says quietly, and Andrei collapses onto the bed laughing. 

“I love you,” he tells her when he recovers. He hugs her tightly again, and she wonders - hopes, maybe - if knowing these pieces of one another’s hearts means more hugs between them.

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Thank you for listening.”

Mary wipes her eyes and groans when she realizes how damp her face is. 

“I’m so gross now, thanks a lot,” she says, nudging him with her shoulder. He grabs the box of Kleenex on her desk and hands it over to her in apology. 

“So...” he says. Inviting. A question. 

“So?”

Andrei gives her a look. “Are there any girls you want to tell me about?”

Mary flushes, her mind immediately casting back to the video call and glasses of white wine, to showers and sunflowers.

She shakes her head. 

“There’s not really anyone.” Andrei hums. 

“You’re going to find someone incredible. You’re going to find someone that understands you like no one else.”

Mary can’t help but smile when she asks him, “Is that Pierre, then? He understands you like no one else?”

Andrei actually _blushes._

“He’s...we’re...it’s all very new.” His voice is soft.

“No it’s not,” Mary protests, because maybe she didn’t know about Andrei (or Pierre, for that matter), but Pierre has always been Andrei’s person, right from the start. Maybe it was always going to be like this, they just had to go through several catastrophic break-ups and a year apart to get there. Actually, come to think of it, that sounds like pretty much every romantic movie Mary’s ever heard people talk about. 

Andrei has more words in the corner of his mouth; Mary can see them there. He wants to tell her more, and she can guess: maybe it really has always been Pierre. Maybe Andrei’s known this the whole time. 

“Tell me. I know you want to say something.” She rolls over so she’s lying on her stomach and looks up at him expectantly. “Tell me.”

“I kissed him when I got home,” he says. He’s taking his time, making sure he gets every detail, every bit of the timeline correct. She loves him tremendously. “He was there at the airport and I kissed him because I couldn’t stop myself anymore, and he thought it was a French thing I’d picked up and we didn’t talk about it until five days later when he said he was glad to see the kissing thing had worn off.”

Mary puts a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh. That sounds _exactly_ like Pierre. It sounds just like Andrei too, actually. They’ve both been stubborn their whole lives. Her heart feels so so light and she’s so glad her brother has found happiness, but there’s still a hint of longing somewhere inside her. She glances at her phone and sees she has about 10 texts from Sonya. Completely unable to prevent her smile even in front of Andrei, she opens her phone hastily. 

“Oh? Who are you talking to?” Andrei asks. 

“Just, just Sonya.” 

She can actually _hear_ the puzzle pieces clicking together in Andrei’s head. 

“Sonya Rostova?”

“ _Yes_ Andrei. And before you ask, the answer is yes, you don’t have to say it.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Andrei protests, but Mary knows better. “What does Sonya Rostova have to say?” Mary scrolls quickly through the messages. 

“She was asking if I was okay, what happened, some of these are just sad faces. I hung up on her kind of abruptly, you knocked and I didn’t know what was going on.” She looks back up at him. “You never knock.”

“I was having a crisis!”

“I know.”

“I am sorry I made you hang up on your girlfriend, though.”

“She’s not my- Andrei, come on. We’re friends. Sonya doesn’t...she’s nice.”

Andrei hums thoughtfully. “She’s _very_ nice,” he agrees. 

Mary sends Sonya a quick text - _**I’m okay! It’s kind of a long story, nothing bad, I’ll explain later.**_ \- then sets her phone aside and sighs. 

“You really like her, don’t you?”

“It’s like you said. She understands me.”

~~~~~

Sonya does eventually forgive her for vanishing; that is to say, she forgives Mary instantly when she checks her texts the following morning and asks if she wants to come over that evening. Mary knows Sonya can’t see her, is nowhere near her, but she still looks around nervously when she feels the blush rise in her cheeks, checking over her shoulder before replying yes like some forgotten instinct. Luckily, Andrei comes into her room a few minutes later (they’ve once again forgone knocking, which feels cozier now than it did before) and she bullies him into driving her to Sonya’s. He’s staying the night at Pierre’s anyway, so it’s fairly easy to convince him. 

“You’re not even going to hassle me a _little_?” Mary asks in the car. She’s in the passenger seat for once, side by side with Andrei, peering out at the street lights and the horizon through the windshield. 

“I mean, I’m going over to Pierre’s, so it seems a bit unwise.”

“That’s smart of you.” She glances over at him. Andrei’s smiling. 

They fall silent again, but pleasantly so, and Mary watches the darkening sky and cars streaking past contentedly as they move towards Sonya’s apartment. 

“Hey, Masha?” Andrei asks after awhile.

“Yes?”

“Be, be careful, okay? You said Anatole’s going to be there, right?”

She sighs. She’d love to just pretend she’s going over to Sonya’s to spend the evening with her, but Sonya’s just having friends over. Plural. “And Fedya Dolokhov.”

Andrei hums thoughtfully. “I know you’re smart. And I know Sonya is too. But Anatole is uh.” He coughs, and Mary’s heart hurts. She knows too well how much Anatole has put Andrei through. And maybe he’s with Pierre now, and happy, but Andrei was ready to marry Natasha by the time she’d broken things off with him. That’s not an ache that ever stops stinging. 

“I know,” she tells him quietly. She’s still looking out the window, and so is he. They leave it there. 

“All right, your lady awaits,” Andrei says as he parks out front to let Mary out. 

“Don’t say that,” she says, rolling her eyes. “She’s not my...she’s not _my_ anything.”

Andrei smiles at her, a soft thing that makes him look like a little boy again. Mary can’t help but smile back. “Just so you know. I am rooting for you.”

“Thank you, Andrei,” she allows. He nods, and she steps out onto the sidewalk. 

Sonya’s apartment building is a Victorian house that’s been crudely chopped into 6 units. The facade is pale yellow and white, covered in intricate trims and lattices, and Mary thinks it looks exactly like the place she’d imagine Sonya in. Taking a deep breath and glancing back at Andrei’s car for courage, she walks up and rings the bell for unit 4. There’s a pause, then the sound of someone thumping down the stairs, and then the door is swinging open and Sonya’s sunny smile is greeting her. Her gingery hair is tied up in a messy bun and she’s wearing a light grey t-shirt that look impossibly soft. 

“You found me!” Sonya cries in delight, pulling Mary in for a hug. “Come on up, the guys are here already, drinking me out of house and home.”

“Oh, I should have brought something,” Mary says, horrified even though she’s underage and not especially capable of bringing alcohol to people’s homes. Still, she feels almost naked with how empty-handed she is. Caught off guard mere seconds into an evening—that has to be a record. 

“No, no, you’re absolutely fine. I just wanted to see you,” Sonya tells her. Mary’s grateful Sonya’s back is to her on the staircase. She’s never been good at disguising the feelings on her face. 

Sure enough, when they walk into Sonya’s apartment, Anatole and Fedya are sitting on the floor. There’s a bottle of Russian Standard and a handful of shot glasses between them. Fedya turns to the door when they come in, but Anatole seems unbothered, arching his back and stretching his arms up and out behind him. 

“Well I found Mary, so now the party can start,” Sonya tells them cheerfully, closing the door behind her. “How many shots have you two done in the thirty seconds I was out?”

Anatole just huffs while Fedya tells her, “Two,” and smiles winningly. 

“You need to take care of yourselves,” Sonya scoffs, but she lets them carry on while pulling a box off a shelf. “So. Apples to Apples?”

“Only you would have _that_ instead of Cards Against Humanity in your college apartment,” Anatole sneers. Fedya shoves him, and he loses his balance, falling onto his right arm. He shoves Fedya right back, but it’s a playful thing, the kind of shove school children give their friends when they tease them on the playground.

“I _like_ Apples to Apples. It’s funny.” she sets the box down in the center of the room and sits across from the boys, opening it and pulling the cards out. 

“I like it too,” Mary offers. Her throat feels dry; she’s still standing in the doorway, hovering as she is wont to do, unsure where her place is in all this, if she has one. Then Sonya looks up at her, eyebrows arched, and pats the carpet beside her. 

“Join me,” Sonya says. She waits til Mary finally moves towards her, then goes back to shuffling the red and green cards. “Hey, actually, Mary would you mind giving everyone cards? The red ones? I’m going to go get a glass of wine. Would you like any?”

“No, I’m okay,” Mary says, taking the cards from her and dealing four hands. “How many?”

“Seven!”

Mary doesn’t look up as she flicks through the deck of cards, but she can see Anatole lean his head on Fedya’s shoulder and nuzzle into his neck out of the corner of her eye. They must have done more than two shots before Mary got here. 

“You two,” Sonya laughs as she comes back into the living room, slender glass of white wine in hand. She takes a sip as she returns to her place beside Mary. Patting Mary’s knee, she picks up her cards and asks if everyone knows how to play. Anatole lifts his head and scoots away from Fedya, putting on a game face. Mary’s not quite sure what to make of that. Fedya barely seems to register it, but he pours himself another shot and downs it before they begin. 

The game passes quickly, with all four of them laughing despite Anatole’s initial scepticism. Fedya picks “Pinocchio” for “Creepy” and Anatole shrieks. When Sonya points out how much the adjectives each of them have won fit them as people (Sonya: Cheerful, Good, Delightful; Fedya: Frightening; Mary: Little; Anatole: Creepy, Expensive, Hot), they have to pause the game because no one can breathe for their laughter. Sonya’s on her third glass of wine, and the boys’ vodka is nearly gone, when Anatole’s next turn as judge rolls around. 

“Lovable,” he reads from the green card. “Adorable, enchanting. Lovable.”

Fedya giggles. “Is it against the rules if I just put myself on the pile?” 

“Yes,” Sonya and Anatole say at the same time. 

“Hmmm.” 

They each contemplate their hands (Mary selects “Freckles”) and throw their selections into the pile, which Anatole collects greedily. Fedya is grinning into his drink. 

“Okay so we’ve got ‘Girls’ - I see you, Sonya - ‘Freckles,’ and a blank card. Who put the blank fucking card in, what is it?”

“I did,” Fedya says, with the air of a man incredibly excited to deliver his punchline. 

“Well?”

“It’s ‘Me.’”

“Yes, you just said it was you, what’s your word Dolokhov?”

“It’s ‘Me.’ Get it? You said I couldn’t put myself on the card pile, but I had the blank card, and that’s almost as good as the real thing, right?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Anatole says, starting to discard Fedya’s blank card.

Fedya pouts. “Really thought I had that one in the bag.”

“ _Why_ would I pick _you_ for ‘ _Lovable?’”_

Fedya makes a kissy face at Anatole, leaning towards him, but Anatole leans back. “Because you’re in love with me,” Fedya proclaims melodramatically. 

“That isn’t- that’s not- I-” Anatole coughs. Mary freezes, shooting Sonya a sideways glance. Sonya is looking back at her, eyes wide. It’s a testament to how drunk Anatole must be, because Mary has never seen him look flustered or at a loss for words. Not ever. 

“Uh,” Fedya looks like he just got the wind knocked out of him. “It was a joke.”

Anatole swallows, nods fiercely, intently. “I, yes, I knew that, I know.”

“Anatole?”

Anatole isn’t looking at Fedya. Is pointedly _not_ looking at Fedya. Fedya reaches out a hand and grabs Anatole’s shoulder, turns him to face him so gently it makes Mary’s breath catch in her throat. 

“Hey,” Fedya says softly. “Hey, talk to me.”

“We should go,” Sonya stage whispers, grabbing Mary’s hand and practically hauling her out of the living room and down the hall. Mary goes with her willingly; she can feel herself blushing from what just happened in the room and it doesn’t even have anything to do with her. She can hear murmuring still down the hall, back in the living room where they’ve abandoned Anatole to Fedya and Fedya to Anatole. 

“Do you think they’ll be alright?” she asks as Sonya pushes a door open and pulls them both inside the room. Mary might not think much of Anatole, she might have personal issues with him after everything with Natasha and Andrei, but she also isn’t a person to wish harm or pain on people.

Sonya flicks the light switch and sits down on her bed. 

“I think so?” She pats the bed next to her for Mary to come sit. It’s a gesture Mary’s becoming rapidly fond of. She joins Sonya on the fluffy beige bedspread, heart hammering and fingers trembling. Sonya lies back on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, as she says, “Fedya and Anatole have had..a _thing_ for awhile.”

“A thing?”

“They’ve uh, hooked up? About 5 or 6 times? Maybe more, Fedya probably hasn’t told me anything. Anyway, I’ve always thought Fedya probably had feelings for him, not that he’d ever admit it, not even to me, but I had _no idea_ about Anatole. I’m sure Fedya didn’t either. He looked shocked.”

“He did.” Mary’s lost in thought, wondering what it’s like to be in love with someone you’ve already touched, already known. To have left fingerprints on every inch of someone and still not have it be enough. She’s never dated someone before, certainly never been with anyone in _that_ way, never even kissed anyone. People always look at her like she’s an alien when they learn this; she wonders if Sonya would. She doesn’t think so. 

“Well, that’s been a mess for years, I wouldn’t mind so much if they fix it tonight. I’ve been trying to get Fedya to talk to me about it but he never listens, always changes the topic. He gets so angry when I push him too hard. He must love him horribly.”

Horribly. Awfully. Terribly. Mary’s never fully grasped these words in relation to love, always thought they seemed too violent for such a soft thing, but when she looks at Sonya’s brown eyes and long fingers she thinks she might understand. 

“That’s good.”

“You’re quiet.” Sonya sits up slightly to prop herself up on her elbows, looking back at Mary. “I know tonight’s been kind of weird, and it got even weirder there at the end.”

“I’ve been having fun,” Mary insists. Sonya collapses down onto her back again. 

“C’mere,” Sonya says. Confused, Mary tentatively leans over towards Sonya’s head, and Sonya tugs Mary down at the shoulder til Mary’s lying next to her. Surely Sonya can feel Mary’s heartbeat shaking the bed. Sonya stretches a hand towards Mary and strokes her hair, gently handling her braid. “Can I take this out? We should sleep soon. ‘M tired.” Sonya’s smile is lazy, tipsy, and Mary’s more than happy to allow her to keep touching her in this soft, sleepy way. She nods, and Sonya pulls out the elastic, running her fingers through Mary’s hair to unwind the strands from one another. Mary can hardly breathe; Sonya is so close to her. She’s intent on her work, lips slightly parted, and Mary can feel the soft puffs of her breath against her face. Mary can’t tear her gaze from Sonya’s eyes, big and bright and lively even though it’s late. A piece of hair is caught under Mary’s cheek, pressed against the bed, and she lifts her head so Sonya can untuck it with the rest. 

Mary’s heart is still pounding and Sonya is looking back at her now. Sonya runs her hands through Mary’s hair once more, letting the now loose strands fall across the right side of Mary’s face. The hint of a smile still plays across Sonya’s face (Mary’s beginning to think that’s a permanent fixture) as she leans in, brushing Mary’s hair aside, and kisses Mary’s shoulder. Mary can’t be certain if she actually gasps or if it’s just her brain feeling overwhelmed, but Sonya chuckles either way. “You’re so pretty,” Sonya sighs, eyelids fluttering but refusing to shut. She’s fully lying on her side now, a perfect mirror of Mary herself. Their knees are touching. 

Sonya is _looking_ at her. Mary is looking at Sonya and Sonya is looking back at her, and Mary _wants._ She keeps looking, staring, waiting and wondering if Sonya feels the same way, if Sonya is going to do something, before she decides she can’t just keep looking at Sonya like this. If she does, all she’s going to do is keep looking back at her forever. 

“Can I...” she trails off as she shifts closer to Sonya, gaze moving to Sonya’s lips, hoping her intent is clear enough. “Is this okay?”

“Please,” Sonya whispers. Mary closes the space between them and presses a kiss to Sonya’s mouth. 

She feels as warm as she looks, and all Mary can hear is their intertwined stuttering breaths. Sonya kisses her back so tenderly Mary thinks she might break from it, presses their mouths together a bit more firmly just to try and quiet the buzzing in her head. Sonya inhales sharply, lets Mary kiss her roughly, rubs slow circles with her fingertips on the back of Mary’s neck. Mary can’t think about her nerves or the boys in the living room or her brother or the weight that always sits in her chest, genuinely can’t think about anything except the feeling of Sonya’s cheek in her hand and happy sigh she makes when Mary pulls her closer with an arm slung around Sonya’s waist. In this moment, Mary feels nothing except full of light. 

“I like you so much,” Sonya whispers as she pulls back. Mary feels her cheeks heat even after her own boldness. 

“I like you too.”

“Good.” They’re both whispering still, both afraid to raise their voices at all lest the spell be broken. “I’m sorry, but I’m so tired.”

“Me too,” Mary laughs. They move so they’re lying on the pillows instead of sideways across the bed with their legs hanging off. Hesitantly, Mary wraps her arm around Sonya again, and is relieved when Sonya curls into the touch. 

“Oh no, the lights,” Sonya wails. She turns her head to look at Mary pitifully, batting her eyes for effect, and Mary scoffs so she can pretend it doesn’t scare her how willing she already is to do anything to make Sonya smile. She crawls out of bed and turns the lights off, then pauses before carefully undoing her bra under her sweater and pulling it off. She’s grateful she opted for leggings rather than tights under her skirt so she can take the skirt off and sleep comfortably. Settling back into bed and into cuddling Sonya, Mary realizes suddenly that she actually _is_ pretty tired. Pressing a soft kiss to Sonya’s forehead, Mary closes her eyes and drifts off.

~~~~~

The bed feels huge when Mary wakes up in the morning. It takes her a few moments to realize it’s because Sonya is no longer sharing it with her. Mary closes her eyes again and thinks. Sonya did have a few glasses of wine last night, and while she’d seemed perfectly fine, maybe she hadn’t wanted to kiss Mary after all, or maybe she was embarrassed, or maybe-

Well. Regardless, Mary should probably get of her bed, out of her apartment. 

She gathers up the clothes she’d discarded at the foot of Sonya’s bed the night before, feeling a bit mortified that Sonya had most likely seen her boring grey bra and crumpled skirt lying on the floor when she’d gotten up. Getting dressed quickly, she pads into the hall, closing the bedroom door gently behind her, and heads to the living room.

“Oh good, you’re up!” Sonya says happily when Mary walks in. She’s sitting cross-legged on the sofa and sipping from a mug while scrolling through her phone. “I made tea if you want some?”

“Oh.” Mary feels like she’s about eight steps behind. “That would be lovely.”

Sonya sets her mug down, tucks her phone into the pocket of her sweatpants, and goes to the kitchen. “Can I make you pancakes? Or do you have to head out?”

Maybe she’s more like fifteen steps behind. “I don’t want to make you cook for me.”

“Let me rephrase: pleaaaase can I make you pancakes?” Sonya asks. Mary smiles even though she’s still not really sure what’s happening. 

“Yes, all right.” She follows Sonya to the kitchen to see if she can be of some use. Sonya flits around from cabinet to cabinet, pulling out a box of pancake mix, turning on the gas stovetop, buttering the pan. 

“So I came into the living room this morning to find Anatole and Fedya sleeping on the couch together,” Sonya says wryly as she flips the first pancake. 

“Oh?”

“Actually it was more like Anatole was sleeping _on top_ of Fedya. It was totally ridiculous. I sent them packing.” She deftly moves the pancake onto a plate before pouring more mix into the pan. “No, it was sweet. I think they’re actually going to be happy. Isn’t that incredible?”

“It is,” Mary agrees. She doesn’t say: are we going to be happy? Are we incredible?

Sonya continues to chatter happily as she fills two plates with stacks of fluffy pancakes, then moves back to the living room with them. She hands one over to Mary and begins to chow down, settling back into her spot on the couch, feet tucked under herself. 

They are eating pancakes together, and Sonya is so beautiful. 

“Hey,” Sonya says in a way that puts Mary immediately on edge. “I really liked last night.”

Oh? 

“I...really liked last night too.”

“Good. That’s. Good.” Sonya takes another bite of pancake, cheeks rosy. 

Mary decides she has to be the one to bite the bullet here. 

“I like you. A lot.”

Sonya sighs into a relieved smile. “I’m so glad. I thought...I don’t know, I was worried last night might have just been one of those things where like, it feels good and right in the moment.”

“It did. It did feel good, and right.”

“It did, but I want,” Sonya bites her lip. “I want more than a night. If you do.”

Mary nods, unable to speak. She nods and nods til she’s sure Sonya knows how very much Mary wants more than a night. Mary wants everything. 

“Would you want to go on a date? Soon?” Sonya asks. 

“I’ve never been on a date,” Mary admits. “I don’t know what they’re like or what I’m supposed to do.”

“I’ll show you, it’ll be fun, I promise.” Sonya looks and sounds so sincere that Mary can’t even be afraid anymore.

“Then I’d love to. When?” She takes a sip of the tea Sonya had made her. It’s perfect.

“Are you free this afternoon?”

Mary laughs. “Maybe? I should go home at some point - I should text Andrei at some point - but I’d love to. What did you have in mind?”

Sonya scrunches up her face in thought, sunny and adorable and wonderful. “I have no idea. We’ll figure it out on the way.”

“Okay.” She’s looking at Sonya again, with Sonya looking back at her. Mary still feels like Sonya is made of light, especially with the sun glowing through the filmy curtains behind her, but now Mary thinks maybe Sonya’s given Mary some of that light too; she can feel herself glow. “Sure. We’ll figure it out on the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Find me on tumblr at mlbevan.tumblr.com :)


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